by paperk8


There was a time when Xander hated the smell of acetone and nail enamel.

At that time, he also hated the lingering smell of cigarettes, the first waft of heated blood when the microwave opened, and tried to convince himself that the vague salt-warmth of leather was just as bad. He once associated these things with a dank basement, musty with damp concrete, fabric softener and a lifelong source of fear.

If he tries, he can still see himself there, before, alone, then not, and feel the lumpy mattress and the snakelike coils of rope that gave him a sense of safety and control.


“Damn it Spike, that reeks.”

“Sod off.”

“You have to do that here?”

“And where else would I? Staying here, aren’t I?”


“S’not that bad.”

“You don’t have to breathe, you bleached freak.”

“Lucky me.”

“You couldn’t wait ‘til dark, so we could open a window?”

“Didn’t know it bothered you, did I? Now ask me if I care.”

“I’m going to be sick.”


“Why do you do that, anyway?”

“Have to get the old stuff off, otherwise the new looks like utter shit.”

“I know that. I meant the whole polish thing to begin with. Just punk chic for the not-so-Big Bad?”

“Like you would know style if it bit you on your pasty arse.”

“Hey, don’t knock my ass. And I have style.”

“I’d knock you on your ass, if I could.”

“Which you can’t.”

“Ah, my daily lamentation.”


“Bugger off. Look boy, if eyesores that are two sizes too big and hang off you were any sort of style, then grunge would have survived through the nineties.”

“And the punk look is so twenty-first century.”

“Some things sustain, trust me; you on the other hand would need a fucking miracle to get into any decent club.”

“And I suppose nail polish would come down from the heavens.”

“Would be a start.”



There was a time when Xander wouldn’t know a subtle seduction if it bit him on the ass.

At that time, he never noticed when the resident vampire was checking him out. He failed to realize that the exchange of taunts and insults had become remarkably blue, or that the rude appraisal in Spike’s eyes was fired by something other than disdain and annoyance.

If he tries, he can almost pinpoint when those things started working on him, though. Spike’s attention found a slithery way into his subconscious, sending his daydreams to weird places he hadn’t wanted to think about.


“Hold up, pet. Look at those… Now that’s style.”

“Do you have a fetish or something?”

“Leather is a classic. And black leather more so.”

“I get the duster, Spike, really I do. Buffy said it’s a trophy, right? But those are obscene.”

“They’re supposed to be, you git.”

“And that’s style? Sex, I should have known.”

“It’s a tease, better than sex outright, all that skin, but nothing really showing.”

“But you couldn’t even wear…”

“Pants, I know. They’re lined, I’m sure.”

“Uh… no under…”

“You could get the perfect fit with those. Look, the lacing’s not just for show.”

“Are you drooling?”

“And would still be able get out of them right quick.”

“Um, okay, we should get back to patrol.”

“Those, pet, would get you into any club.”

“Wha? Me? Huh, um, no. Absolutely not.”

“With the right accoutrements.”

“You scare me when you use big words.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“Thank you, much better now, can we go?”

“Don’t want to think about it, eh?”


“All that leather snug on your legs, dancing ‘til your blood is pounding and sweat covers you, the contrast, hot under the leather, cool at the lacing…”

“Okay, I take it back, it’s so much more scary when you’re panting over a shop display and talking like that.”

“With the right boots…”

“Come on, Spike.”


There was a time when Xander would take any dare.

At that time, youthful pride and a desire to be liked reigned supreme. He didn’t back down. Fighting the forces of evil was like a dare. It dared him to live another day. Some dares, like the latest evil, he took seriously. Others, Xander figured, were just for fun or to save face. What he didn’t know was that some of those dares take more daring than the serious ones.

If he tries, he can see how that his perspective led to an illustration of the saying, ‘Pride goeth before a fall’.


“Are you drunk?”

“Now Xander, why would you think that?”

“Because obviously you’re… what do you call it… pissed, that’s it. Either you’re pissed beyond all recognition or that chip has finally fried your brain.”

“Not pissed, not fried, just answer the bloody question.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

“Trying to illustrate a point.”

“What point would playing dress up and going to LA to see some weirdo band prove?”

“S’not a band, you idiot. It’s a club, with a great DJ, and it’s about style.”

“Are you on about that again?”

“Not something you get off of, if you’ve got it.”

“Which you keep telling me I don’t, so just drop it.”

“But you could.”

“If it involves nail polish and leather, I’d rather not.”

“It doesn’t have to, but in this case it does, and that’s not the point.”

“So get to it already.”

“It’s not something I can explain to you. You just have experience it.”

“And going to Lala-land will be my style-enlightenment?”

“Have to set the stage.”

“For what?”

“You’ll find out.”

“Oh god, please kill me.”



“Never mind that. Are you afraid? It’s just a night in the big city. You’ll be fine. Slayer’d stake me if I let anything happen to you, anyway.”

“I’m not afraid. It’s just stupid.”

“Well then, do something stupid. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“If I do this, will you drop it?”

“If you want me to.”



There was a time when Xander was never speechless.

At that time, babble and comic relief saved him from what he figured would have been more embarrassing, more complicated or more tense situations. If his mouth was moving he didn’t have to think too much, or be seen too much. It was automatic, it was background noise, it was what he did, and it was cover. Sarcasm and jokes made good cover for confusion and self-doubt.

If he tries, he can see that the cover was transparent to anyone who took the time to look, and maybe he should have just shut up.


“You agreed to this.”

“Not to this, I didn’t.”

“Look, pet, you’ll understand soon enough.”

“I understand plenty. You want me to pretend I’m your pet. Oh man, you just called me that. Why do you call me that? As if this whole idea weren’t bad enough, you want me to act like your… no. Just no. What is wrong with you? Why am I even here? Stop waving that damn polish at me.”

“I’m shaking it up. Have to do that, you know.”

“I’ll just take a bus home or something. You can stay and go to the club, I’ll just get out of your hair.”

“Bollocks. You’re the whole reason we’re here, remember?”

“Oh yes, me and my style-less… style-lacking… unstylish ass.”

“Which is going to be in style tonight. Settle down.”

“Why couldn’t you have picked a different club?”

“Because it’s part of the point.”

“Which I’m still not clear on.”



“Okay, here’s the deal. I’m trying to show you something. Taking you to a demon club has to do with that. You’re not going to get hurt. I’m not going to humiliate you. If you want to do this right, which IS what you agreed to, you’ll do what I tell you and keep your gob shut.”


“Starting now.”


“You. Silent. Now. Don’t talk unless I ask you a direct question.” Spike grabbed Xander by the shoulders, steered him into a chair facing the foot of one of the hotel beds, and sat down in front of him. With efficient ease he planted one bare foot between Xander’s thighs on the seat and plucked a hand off the armrest to rest on his knee. Xander winced as the bottle was opened and Spike began applying black enamel to his fingernails. Spike was intent on his task and soon had the left hand finished and was trading it for the right. The requested (who was he kidding, the commanded) silence started to get to Xander. He desperately wanted to know what was going on, but was held by confusion and pride to see this through. He watched as Spike stroked the color onto his nails, his face concentrated, but open in a way that Xander didn’t recognize. The right hand was finally finished and Spike arranged him symmetrically, palms on his own knees.

“Don’t move; those need to dry a bit and then we’ll do a second coat.” Xander did his best to relax into the position and not fidget, so he watched as Spike unpacked their gear for the evening. When he saw, tossed out onto the other bed, the laced leather pants that had set Spike to salivating on patrol the other night, he started hyperventilating. He was not going to wear those, no way, no how. At the sound of his accelerated breathing, Spike looked at him. A strange little smile came over the vampire’s face.

“Calm down.” And he was back on the bed, all business-like and checking Xander’s nails. Xander witnessed the second coat going on almost peripherally. Spike had all of his attention. There was something happening here that was just out of his reach. A million questions, and he’d committed himself to silence. Sure, he could just start talking, asking, ranting, leaving, but he was pretty sure that wouldn’t get him what he wanted, which was just to understand what was happening. Apparently his frustration showed, because after the last nail was done and he was resituated to dry, Spike looked at him again and sighed.

“Look, pet… fine, Xander. You’re… you’ve got some good raw material to work with. I have a pretty decent hunch why you don’t see it, and tackling that won’t… wouldn’t be fun for either of us, so I’m gonna try to just show it to you. If you want to think of it as playing along, fine, but you’re still gonna learn loads before the night is through.” Spike rose and swiped the leather pants off the bed. “You will be wearing these. I will be the one putting you in them and that’s not all, so the sooner you just accept it, the better it’ll be.”

Xander felt like Spike was talking to him in code. Did Spike just compliment him? And that’s not all? What the hell did that mean?

“Taking a shower, you need in there first?” Xander shook his head. “Why don’t you lay down for a bit. Just mind the nails, right?” Brow furrowing with confusion, he just nodded. Then Spike was at his side and he had to look up to maintain eye contact. Cool hand on his jaw, thumb stroking his bottom lip. “Such potential. Let me show you, Xan. It’ll be good.” When Xander blinked Spike was gone, door to the bathroom closing with a loud click and he was left to ponder.

Something in his back, maybe his spine, had sort of dissolved when Spike touched him, made him think lying down was a good idea. He collapsed onto the bed, when he realized that something in his knees had dissolved as well. Scrambling, awkwardly without the use of his hands, to the head of the bed, he finally lay on his back, palms carefully set on his stomach.

Spike had touched him. No, caressed him, his mouth, and said something. Had he ever heard Spike sound sincere? Maybe not until just then. It was unfamiliar; a low tone, serious, with lots of things rumbling around in it. And the words. Potential? Potential for what? Wasn’t this whole thing about ego and style? Xander had thought… well he had thought that it was pretty weird and stupid and the idea of going off for a weekend with Spike had given him the most vivid daydreams yet. Dancing, dancing with Spike. Hands on his hips, dark chuckle in his ear, being hard from it. He had just passed it off as the usual: wanting what he couldn’t have, not sure he should want what he wanted anyway, not really able to stop it. And now Spike was touching him?
Maybe… no. It was just some game, right? Trying to prove a point, he’d said. And the point was that Xander had potential? For what?

The sound of a door opening halted Xander’s thoughts. He glanced over to see Spike damp and in a towel. Just a towel. He turned back to the ceiling and shut his eyes. Too good, too much, too confused. What was he supposed to do? He wanted to be here, had pretty much realized he’d want to be anywhere with Spike. But this was too weird, too much like a daydream. He’d accepted what Spike was, and what he was to Spike. That had been easy. Everything and nothing, respectively. The rest was just fantasy fodder and eye candy. So what was this? Xander felt warm fingers on his wrist and it being lifted, fingertips prodded at gently, and his hand returned to him. He kept his eyes closed.

“All dry. Your turn in the shower. Don’t take long; it’s getting on.” Xander sat up slowly, still cautious about his nails, and set his feet on the floor. When he looked up, half-naked Spike was still near, holding what appeared to be a robe out to him. “Put that on when you’re done. Then we’ll get you ready.” Xander just nodded, took the soft material into his hands and headed for the shower.

“Xander.” He turned back and got a full-length view of Spike, towel low on his hips, skin still slightly pink from the shower, hair a damp, alluring mess of gold waves. He had to fight back a groan at the sight. “Don’t toss off in the shower. I’ll need you in good form later.” Xander swallowed hard, felt all the muscles in his body go rigid and then collapse. He looked Spike in the face, expected some taunting smirk or evil grin, but got a solemn look and chin jerking, pointing to the bath. “Go on.”

Xander had the ridiculous urge to answer him, ‘Yes, Spike.’ But thankfully kept his mouth shut and made it into the shower and was cleaning himself on autopilot before he knew it. No jerking off. Okay. He hadn’t really thought about it before, but he sure as hell was now. Good form? For what? Xander adjusted the shower’s spray and leaned against the wall, curled slightly in on himself, feeling the heat, trying to let it soothe.

How long had he been hard? Felt like a while. Was it when Spike had touched him? Or when he’d said, ‘We’re going to a demon club. You’ll be my pet… for tonight’? That was when the confusion had set in. That feeling of being totally lost, untethered. His mouth had kicked in, trying to save him, from what he still didn’t know, but trying nonetheless. Is that why Spike had demanded his silence? Had his mouth been getting in the way, all along? A sinking sense of realization hit his stomach, a bloom of sickly heat, which felt like truth. He should have just shut up.

Quickly finishing with soap and shampoo, fighting the urge to just disappear down the drain, if he could, Xander rinsed, dried, shrugged into the robe and with a deep breath left the quiet haven of the bathroom.

Reentering the main part of the hotel room was getting transported to a different world, or maybe just an alternate dimension. Nothing stationary had changed, except those things obviously moved by Spike. Spike though… Spike stood looking out the window in a sort of half-silhouette. His hair was loose curls and sharp spikes somehow less controlled and more… deliberately sensual than Xander have ever seen it. Bare torso still, though dry now, and his own pair of leather pants. Not as obscene as the ones intended for Xander, just simple, well-cut leather jeans, draping just right to emphasize the musculature without giving anything away. Xander recalled something Spike had said about the teasing quality of the other pair. If those were a tease, these were a mere suggestion, but a provocative one.

“Sit on the bed. Where I was before.” Quiet tone. And that sense of reality having shifted heightened, as he moved to follow the… directive. It wasn’t just Spike that had changed. It was him, too. Whatever fanciful hopes he had buried (deeply) about him and Spike was running the show now. He questioned it, his own actions, his submission, for about a minute. If this was another dimension, he didn’t want to get yanked back from it through some Willow-powered portal.
I’ll just stay here, thanks. This is more interesting, personally, then anything that’s happened in recent history, maybe ever, or at least since Spike had shown up on the scene.

“Close your eyes.” He did and heard Spike moving in front of him. A fingertip under his chin, lifting. “Hold still.” He felt a firm pressure on one eyelid, something moving across the skin just above the lashes. Eyeliner? The same firm swift touch on the other and then the heel of Spike’s hand on his jaw as the marks were obviously smudged by a single finger. The touch was soothing and disconcerting at the same time. Xander felt grounded but unsure about what the result would be. He couldn’t picture himself with eyeliner. It wasn’t up to him anymore, though, was it? He’d given that to Spike. He wondered fleetingly, dizzily, what else he’d be giving Spike by the end of the night. The next thing he noticed was the smell of tea (green and mint) and Spike’s hands in his hair, firm pads working his scalp, slow tugs and sweeps, taking more time than he ever did to form shagginess into… something else. The sensations made him sigh, despite the growing urgency of curiosity. And the then hands were gone and Spike away, washing, it sounded like, and back.

“Right. Before we get on with the rest, I need you to listen to me for a bit.” Xander tilted his head toward Spike’s voice and waited. “Damn, you’re good.” What? He felt confusion contort his face. “A fucking natural.” And there was that hand-jaw-thumb-lip thing again. Could get used to that, and to the praise he’d heard in the voice, too. He tentatively moved into the touch, which caused some breathy noise to come from Spike, and the touch was slowly drawn away.

“Right.” Spike cleared his throat. “Style,” he began, “Style is about pride. It’s not overblown ego, though I have that too.” Spike’s voice started moving, and Xander heard the soft creak of leather and whoosh of movement on the thick carpet. Spike was pacing. “Pride, in one’s self, and comfort in one’s own skin.” He thought he heard a little bit of Giles on a lecture, some lapse in Spike’s badass, contrived accent and had to fight the smile he felt pulling at his lips.

“Pride, pet. Sorry… Xander, which you don’t have.” He knew that much already, though hearing it didn’t really make him feel good that someone, that Spike had noticed. But that had gotten them here, hadn’t it? “We’re going to manufacture it, for the night, for the time being. Because I want you to have a taste of it. It’s not about the clothes, or nail polish, any of that. It’s about confidence and how that alters your attitude. I’ve seen enough to know that you don’t recognize it. Your own potential. I told you that already. So I’m giving you some of mine. This stuff, the club, the pants, all of it are my things, me things, and it doesn’t really do you justice, but it’s all I’ve got.”
It’s great, it’s fine, whatever… you… want. Oh god. “And I don’t even know if this will do any good, it might even make things worse, but it will, at the very least, accomplish one thing I’ve been meaning to do for awhile.”

What? The pacing had stopped. Xander wasn’t sure where Spike was and became disoriented in the waiting silence. “It’ll show you that I… that you’re desirable. Because you are and you have no idea, and I can’t imagine that I’m the only one that’s noticed, but apparently I’m the only one close enough to do anything about it, so I am.” Spike was babbling. Why would Spike babble? And sighing? Oh, man. And sitting down. Next to him. On the bed. Oh fuck.

“Xander. Look at me.”
Fuck, oh fuck. But he couldn’t ignore the need in Spike’s voice. Slowly, he opened his eyes and turned to face Spike. He couldn’t name everything he saw in the face before him, but want was the foremost and Xander had the strongest urge to appease it, however he could.

“You’re beautiful. Amazing, in fact, but you don’t want me. So far tonight, though, with this… you’ve been bloody perfect… and you have to know, I have to tell you, because it would be the worst sort of lie not to… that… I want you.” Xander felt his jaw unhinge and the last hour, or however long it’d been, caught up with him. He thought he was going to pass out.
Too good. Not real. Pinch me.

“Xander, you can talk now. Actually I’d like you to, might take it back later, but say something.” Xander looked down at the space between them and the faint pattern in the fabric of the duvet. He saw Spike gripping his raised knee so hard it had to hurt, even for a vampire.
Say something? What did he, what could he say in response to all that? Thanks, Spike, for handing my fantasy to me on a silver platter? He appreciated the imposed silence for making his mouth move slightly slower than his brain for once, when he finally found what might be good enough words. He looked back up, to Spike’s anxious scowl, with a tentative smile.

“You can call me ‘pet,’ if you want. I don’t mind so much.” Apparently that was better than good enough, because his head was in Spike’s hands and firm lips were brushing his own. Xander was caught for a moment, paralyzed by the need to just feel this. Then he opened, mouth, senses, mind to the possibility, and was falling, with a fleeting thought of ‘Oh, so this is why they say that.’ He moaned as Spike invaded his mouth, gripping his head and jaw a little harder, and searching with tongue over lips and teeth, odd little swipes to the insides of his cheeks that made him feel vulnerable and shaky. Though that could have been due to lack of oxygen. He realized he hadn’t been breathing and took short, shuddery breaths in through his nose, whimpering on the exhale as Spike captured and suckled on his tongue.

And then he was being released. Spike slowly extracted himself, softening the hold, and pulling back after a few little nips and licks at his lips. When he was gone, Xander couldn’t help but lick his lips, and gnaw on the lower one before looking at Spike. What he saw made that lip fall out of his nervous chewing as his jaw dropped again. Burning blue. Scalding want. For him. Spike’s face open, intent and concerned. And happy, he thought. Maybe. It was too much. Again.

“Spike…” He could hear the awe in his own voice. Didn’t know what to say, hoped it was as clearly written on his features as what he thought he saw in Spike’s. Xander brought his hand up, tracing fingertips along a cheekbone and mouth. Odd to see his own hand look alien, with the polish, but the feel was what mattered, and he could.
Feel. Spike.

“Oh pet.” Lips moving under the pads of his fingers, breath brushing, made him shudder. Spike’s fingers curled around his wrist, holding his hand, fingertips got kissed and nibbled, and his hand was brought to Spike’s chest, flattened over his sternum, held there. “You still want this? Tonight? We don’t have to…”

“Yes.” Xander imagined it, clearly now, being claimed publicly, if anonymously, by Spike in some dark smoky club. Being a pet. Being Spike’s pet. Being Spike’s. Period. “Yes… I want you to show me.”
Whatever you want. Everything. Show me. Xander flexed his fingers against Spike’s skin. Smooth. He knew that staying in could be good. Better than good. But Spike had planned this. Wanted something, and Xander wanted to give it to him.

“Right.” Soft smile from Spike, before the cursed (beloved) smirk settled back into place. “Get you dressed. The sooner we go…” The sooner we can come back and… A rush of images, long denied, reeled through Xander’s mind and he was nodding vigorously. Spike chuckled. Not the mean, taunting chuckle Xander realized he hadn’t heard in a while, but a warm one, a daring one, with actual joy in it. He couldn’t help but smile shyly, which earned him another kiss. Brief this time, harder in its swiftness, but no less arousing than the one before.

There was a purpose to Spike’s movements as he dressed Xander. The robe came off, and though a pause was made for sweep of eyes, fingers and brush of lips to the small of Xander’s back as Spike wrangled him into the jeans, the work was done efficiently. Spike had been right, the lacings were for more than just show, though the closure was the traditional zipper. It wasn’t quick work. Six columns of lacing. Perfect thirds, at the outer thigh, just to the insides of his knees, off center of the midline, both front and back. Each line and gap had to be adjusted to Spike’s (apparently) very specific tastes. The waist rode low, lower than he’d expected, making him feel naked for the unfamiliar exposure of his hipbones. The firm tugging of each bit of lacing, binding him up snugly from hip to ankle, made his cock throb. Though it hadn’t been still since before the shower, this was different. Spike’s attention was absolute and addictive. Xander was beginning to get light-headed from it just as Spike proclaimed the jeans done and told him to sit.

He discovered that the lacings had some sort of give, allowing him to stretch and move easily, without feeling the confining feeling of too-tight denim. Boots came on and then a grey mesh sleeveless shirt that had a clingy drape and whispered over his skin. He watched Spike don his own shirt. Loose, light material, Indian cotton maybe, dyed so dark a red it was nearly black, buttoned incompletely and sleeves rolled up to expose forearms that Xander had the sudden urge to lick. Rings then, and leather cuffs, simple, unrelieved leather buckled onto wrists. When Spike finished dressing he stood at the window again, fingering another length of leather in his hands. Xander watched and wondered at the sudden stillness.

The moment drew out, until Xander began to get nervous, squirming a bit, until Spike turned and looked at him. Apprehensive sort of look there. Spike shouldn’t look unsure. Xander worried that his mind was changing, that Spike didn’t want this anymore, that he’d done something wrong. But Spike was touching him again, so it couldn’t be too bad. Hand on his chin again, lifting. Grim smile and a deliberate swallow. What is it?

“All right, for this to work, you have to bear some sign of belonging to me, but I don’t… won’t… hurt you. I know you don’t want to get bit, so this will have to do.” He thought for the first time that Spike really didn’t have a clear picture of what Xander wanted.
Bit. Bitten by Spike. His eyes rolled slightly at that thought. To be wanted that much? How could he not want it? But there was still a dynamic at work, and it was early, yet, wasn’t it? He kept his thoughts to himself and looked at the object in Spike’s hand. “I had it mojo’d, as long as you’re wearing it demons will think, sense, that I’ve claimed you.” A collar. And as close to a real claiming he’d get at the moment, he knew. He wanted it. Rather desperately, when the implication hit him. Spike’s. He could be Spike’s. Even if just for the night. He really hoped it wasn’t just for the night. He swallowed his need back, glanced from the collar twined in Spike’s fingers, up to his face, nodded firmly.

Relief spread over Spike’s face, and little tension went out of his shoulders. Xander was amazed that he seemed to care that much and blinked slowly a couple times. Then he stretched, straightening his spine, arching his neck, and lifting his chin up just a bit more. He heard Spike groan softly, before fingers were brushing his neck and the leather was being fastened together. The collar was odd, like the jeans, a constant and unfamiliar sensation, something he’d be aware of with every movement, and he stretched again, testing the fit, feeling how tight (not too) it was, didn’t hinder movement, or really hurt at all, but bit a little when he moved just right and felt tighter when he swallowed.

Spike was watching him and suddenly he felt lost without some touch and slowly bent forward to nudge Spike’s hand with his head. Spike hissed in reaction, but before Xander could pull away, laid his hand firmly on the back of Xander’s neck, stepping forward to press Xander’s face into his hip. Xander turned his head and rubbed his cheek along the leather, getting a close view of obviously hardness inches away, trapped under the same leather. His breath caught, comforted and very suddenly urgently wanting to taste. He tried to nudge closer, wanting to feel it, even through the jeans, but Spike held him in place.

“Later, pet.” His voice sounded tense. “We need to go.” Xander sighed, but nodded and followed as Spike tugged him up by a finger hooked in the collar, and stood to wait while Spike got into his duster and patted himself down, checking for keys.

Xander began to get nervous about going out, in the new gear, in public, even through the lobby of the hotel, where people were. He didn’t want to care, just wanted to stay focused on Spike and thoughts of the club, and maybe what might come after. But he couldn’t help it. People were going to see him. Done up like a rent boy. Even if it was hot, it still wasn’t meant for general consumption. The fidgeting and sweating started before Spike had even started for the door. It was apparently audible, or detectable by some vamp sense, because just as the shaking of true fear set in Spike was right in front of him, head cocked to the side, tracking whatever it was with a long sniff and furrowed brow.

An amused smile and shake of his head, and Spike slid back out of the duster and put Xander into it. Buttoned up, adjusted the shoulders, kissed Xander on the nose and took his hand, pulling him toward the door. “We’ll forgo the leash for tonight, eh pet?” Xander twitched as his hand went from nerveless to hypersensitive in no time flat.
Leash? Spike’s holding my hand. Meltdown imminent.

Somehow he made it out of the hotel before the leash-hand-Spike-club-hard loop going in his brain let up and he had to get in the car. Xander was pretty sure the slightly complex movements were only possible because Spike had let go of his hand. The drive was quick, parking parallel and frightening in its speed and accuracy. Xander barely had time to process, much less get worked up about the club, his outfit, what was to come, before he was following Spike through a darkly painted but plain door and facing a very green but oddly friendly looking demon. They were looked over scrupulously and at an odd gesture Spike let loose with a riff of something Xander identified as punk. A startled look crossed the door-demon’s face, but he smiled and waved them on.

Past the foyer, the club sprawled epically. Xander became immediately overwhelmed by flashes of light, thumping music, movement, and chatter. The mix of creatures, spread over multiple levels, was bogglingly eye-catching and he became disoriented and vaguely dizzy from his own inability to keep his attention on any one thing. Spike’s hand on his wrist though, firm and cool, brought him back. He was tugged across the space, to stand near a bar just off the dance floor. Quick fingers stole the comforting coat away and handed it off to some underling accompanied by a glare and a growl. They had arrived.

Drinks were ordered and Spike found a perch on a tall stool, swung around to face the dance floor and handled Xander to stand in between his spread legs. One hand slid around his side, flattened over his stomach and eased him back until Spike could hook his chin over Xander’s shoulder.

“Seems like a good night ‘ere, pet.” Xander couldn’t agree more, but didn’t think they could be thinking about the same thing. For him it was the hand on him, the voice in his ear, the constant awareness of leather on his neck. The scene was busy and intense, but after that first wave of chaos it just all came back to Spike. Spike and him. Here. Wherever. Together. It startled him to realize that they were. It wasn’t just some odd fantasy or dream. He couldn’t come up with this, he knew. This was real. And that was bizarre in a way his life had never quite been before. He tentatively brought his hands to the knees bracketing his hips, a light touch, to see if it was okay, needing more contact, but not very sure what was allowed.

“S’fine.” Rumble in his ear and he let his hands settle. “You can touch me, Xander. I expect you to. Especially out there.” He felt Spike gesture, with a nod, to the crowded, moving space in front of them. He was already shaking, throbbing, at the words. “However you want. Because only you have that right, tonight. Only you, of all these, gets to feel how hard I am. Because only you are the cause of it. Only you, will have my hands on you. Because you’re all I want to feel.” And that thing? In his back, and knees that help him stay upright? Gone again. Melting into Spike, head tilted back onto a shoulder, a long continuous whimper as hands skimmed, fingers curved around his hipbones, keeping him vertical.

“And I’m going to be the only one touching you. Because even if they want to, and they do, pet, they do, they wouldn’t dare. Because they all can tell you’re mine.” There was something wistful, and fleeting to that. Something that made Xander want to reassure Spike. His. Yes. Absolutely. And not just by the virtue of some magicked collar. Given his state of arousal (great) and the constraints he’d agreed to, the best he could do was grip a little higher, a little tighter, and bare his neck a little bit more.

That seemed to be enough for the moment, if Spike’s groan was anything to go by. That and the skilled mouth latching onto the bit of flesh exposed between leather and mesh. Barest hint of teeth, less than Xander wanted, just lips and tongue and that was good too. Good enough to make his hips shift back into Spike and the stool, and fingers go slack.

“’M beginning to regret bringing you ‘ere, pet. I’m gonna pop, if you get any better than you are right now.” A tiny thread of pride spooled through Xander, made him smile, and wiggle his ass against Spike’s crotch. “Dancing. We should be dancing. The sooner…”
The better. Spike handed him a shot glass, clinked his own against it and tossed it back. Xander smiled and followed suit, before being yanked into the mass of rhythmic bodies. This he’d imagined, but not nearly well enough to prepare him.

Heat and scents moving around him, as hypnotic as the exotic skins and limbs. And Spike. Head tilted back and to the side, controlled convulsions that were amazing to watch, but better to feel when he was pulled close and held against undulating hips and weaving chest. As the song changed, being seamlessly mixed from old to new, house to a simple, undeniable beat, ambient to nearly acoustic, Spike caught his eye and smiled. Odd softness to his mouth, but a hungry gleam in his eye. Disconcerting. Hands on his elbows, sliding down to guide wrists to the small of his back, held there, not roughly, but firmly. A thigh between his and hardness meeting hip, from both sides. Spike’s mouth on the curve of his jaw, near his ear. Rocking, swaying, voices in tandem, from above and around to close-in, breathed into him.

//If you were in my heart, I’d surely not break you.
If you were beside me, then my love would take you.
I’ll keep you in safety, forever, protect you.
I’ll hide you, away from, the world you rejected.
I’ll hide you.//

Meltdown beyond imminent. Meltdown here. Fingers releasing his wrists, but sliding to entangle with Xander’s own. Brought in closer, no space between, being kept upright by the sheer force of arousal and mental overload, because he didn’t have a body anymore, not beyond his cock and the few inches skin that Spike was touching. Hands, forearms twined together, neck, jaw, ear lobe. He had those parts. And an inner ear, because he was hearing the impossible… inner ear and a few synapses, he was pretty sure. Unbidden thought of needing a Babel fish, because this was not possible. Should be a foreign language for all the sense it made to him. But it didn’t stop. And he couldn’t, wouldn’t want to ever, block out the words.

//Take my hand. Show no fear. Look in my eyes. It’s perfectly clear. I’ll love you. And cover you. Ask me to tell you what I wanna do. Hide you, away from danger.//

“I’ll hide you, Xander, if you let me.” Xander wondered if Spike would be upset if he begged to be taken home now. Fuck style. He wasn’t going to learn anything, if Spike kept looking at him and touching him and saying impossible things. He couldn’t think past Spike and want.
Now please. Want now, please. He doubted he’d ever have style, not like Spike’s, not without Spike’s, but he would be willing to try. Just not now.

Xander dropped his head to Spike’s shoulder and whimpered. It was really too much. All the effort Spike had put forth, and Xander wanted to give him whatever he was after, but more than that, he just wanted to be somewhere quiet and dark and alone, with Spike.

The club was loud and enticing, but Xander was going into sensory overload and didn’t know how to express it. He turned his face into Spike’s neck and tasted. Tongue lingering over the plane between sharp tendon and rounded muscle. Slow licks, completely dissonant to any beat that surrounded them. Making the pace he wanted. Spike’s hands untangled from his, to hold him at his hip and the small of his back. Xander’s let his hands come up to rest on Spike’s elbow and shoulder and his tentative licking stopped in favor of simply burrowing.

“What is it?”

He could only whimper and try to find some haven in Spike’s skin, away from chaotic sound and scent. But Spike drew back and gripped his chin, looking him over.

“Tell me.”

Searchlight blue and Xander’s knees were gone (again). “Spike…” He felt faint, and the pulsing lights weren’t helping. He closed his eyes against them, whispering, “Hide me.”

Spike gripped tighter, almost painfully, for a moment, then released. He caught Xander’s fingers again, and led him shivering, off the dance floor. Spike growled orders, was instantly obeyed, bundled Xander back up into the duster and led him out.

At the car, Spike stopped, wrapped his arms around Xander, pressed him back into the cool metal and settled against his front. Xander shuddered and locked his knees, waiting for the relative calm of the city to override the noise in his head. Beyond the music and other sensory input, there had been a chant of disbelief turning circles in his thoughts. There was no way this was happening. It couldn’t be. Surreal. Not real. Anything but real. He wanted it too much for it to actually be. He’d only gotten one wish in his life and look how that had turned out. At any moment, real Spike would return and he’d be alone again.

“Too much for you, pet?”

He could only nod against Spike’s cheek.

“You need to tell me what’s wrong.”


“I won’t be mad, Xander, I couldn’t. I said we didn’t have to do this tonight, and I meant it. But you have to tell me want you want.”

“You. Not real. Too much.” Great, not only could he not handle whatever this was, he couldn’t speak either. Where was his usual banter? Even the babble would be preferable, but it was incidental. He just shrugged in Spike’s embrace and heard an answering sigh. A hand on the back of his head brought his brow down to Spike’s upturned lips. A gentle brush, barely a kiss, and Spike was guiding him into the car.

The silent ride back to hotel was calming to his overblown senses, but made him feel foolish. He could have stayed at the club, let Spike show him style and whatever else. He knew he’d disappointed Spike, even if told otherwise. He just knew it. And that was the worst feeling. Failure. The dancing had been good, and though he’d barely noticed, the attention of the demons and humans around them had been thrilling. They’d been watching, though Xander was sure that Spike was the focus of that, it’d still been exciting. He could have stayed, had another drink, and kissed Spike in front of everyone. That would have been great. But it was too late now.

Just as Xander was working himself into another fit of anxious self-flagellation, he felt Spike’s hand on his thigh. They were in the parking lot and he had no idea how long the car had been still. He turned to look at what he knew would be a dissatisfied expression on Spike’s face. Surprised again, he found gentle eyes and the barest hint of a smile.

“Come on, pet. In we go.”

Confused, Xander followed Spike back into the hotel, and up to their room. Once behind the locked door, Spike led him to stand in front of the mirror that hung over the low dresser. The duster was once again removed, and a chill passed through Xander at the overly cooled room. Spike slid in to stand between Xander and the reflective glass, skimmed his hands up from shoulders to neck and jaw, and brought Xander’s face down to meet his. The sure, tender quality of each touch confused him even more. Lips on his, firm and coaxing, but not taking anything. He let his eyes close and tried not to shake. When Spike pulled back, away, and sat on the edge of the dresser, Xander sighed. He wasn’t sure what was happening. Hadn’t been for hours, but he’d let himself get caught up in the tide of want and yet another dare. This was even stranger. This patient, perceptive thing Spike had going. Impossible. More impossible.

“You better?”

Xander nodded in response, then shook his head.

“’M not a telepath, pet,” Spike said softly.

Sorry about everything.

“For what?”

Xander was afraid to open his mouth and ruin whatever might be left to the night, so he shrugged, but couldn’t look Spike in the eye. He felt Spike examining him. Looking him over, scenting him quietly.

“What are you ashamed of?”

“I’m sorry we had to leave.”

“The club?”

He nodded and from the corner of his eye he saw Spike grin.

“Was probably a bit much to start. Me and my grand schemes, eh?”

Xander tried to smile. He really did, but knew his face wasn’t working right.

“Never was good at planning. Or maybe it’s just the follow through. S’all right though.”

Xander shook his head. It couldn’t be.


“I… you wanted… and I couldn’t.” He looked quickly, barely a glance, for Spike’s reaction. Spike looked puzzled, then after a few moments of silence and a second quick glance, Xander found something resembling Willow’s resolve face.

“I said it was all right.” Different tone to that. Firm, and not remotely cajoling. “It
is all right. Because I said. And that’s all you need to worry about.”

Xander blinked, repeatedly, eyes settled near Spike’s hand lay on the edge of the dresser, and tried to figure that out.

“My pet. You do what I say, right?”

Hesitant nod.

“Answer me.”


“Yes, what?”

That startled him and Xander looked Spike full in the face to see a tight, though neutral expression, but for an arched brow.


An encouraging nod and there was the light bulb of realization, and a flicker of arousal poking through Xander’s dismay.

“Yes, Spike.” And that got him a grin.


“Yes, Spike.” Hearing himself say it, softly and fully aware, sent a jolt of sensation down to Xander’s groin and thighs.

“You want this.” Not a question.

“Yes, Spike.”

“To be my pet.”

“Yes, Spike.”

“For how long?”

Confusion reared its head again. How long has he wanted it? Or how long did he want it to last? Same answer.

“For… ever.”

A startled shudder from Spike at that. He seemed pleased, though.

“You’ve wanted it?”

“Yes, Spike.”

“You want it past tonight?”

“Yes, Spike.” He was falling again. Into blue, drawing his attention down to that small point of contact, but was peripherally aware of Spike’s posture changing.

“You want to be mine.” Xander had to shut his eyes against the intensity, but couldn’t stop from answering.

“Yes.” He heard a soft, warning growl. “Spike. Yes, Spike.”

can say no.”

He thought about that. He could. Was capable. But not willing. And Spike had just given him an out. He could stop now, he knew, and somehow felt sure that things would go back to… well, not normal, but as close to as possible. It didn’t matter. There was no stopping this.

“No, Spike.” He couldn’t help but grin a little and look back up at Spike through his lashes.

“You don’t want to, do you?”

“No Spike, I don’t want to say no to you.”

“That’s…” The pause was filled with the sudden and unusual sound of Spike taking a deep breath. “That’s… good.”

Xander hoped so and nodded.

“You know I want you.”

No. No he didn’t. Not really. It seemed as though Spike did, but it wasn’t something that Xander could say he
knew, so he didn’t answer.

“You don’t believe me.”

He dreamed. He wished. He wanted. But something old and ingrained kept him from believing. “I don’t… know.”

A stretch of silence, long enough to make Xander look away again, afraid he’d failed, again, then Spike was at his side, taking his wrist. Directing his hand, palm out, to Spike’s crotch. Xander groaned.
Hard. Without conscious effort his fingers fit into place over the leather contouring Spike’s cock. Smooth fingers slid down over the back of his hand, holding it in place, not pressing, not moving, but disallowing escape. The other hand grazed up from belly to chin, nudging it, him, to face Spike. Close. Right there, under his hand, which twitched at the fierce look in Spike’s eyes.

“Know.” A command. Punctuated by a thrust of hips, pressing need into Xander’s palm. “I have been this hard all night. I’ve been this hard for most of the last week. And before. Wanting you.” Xander swallowed and tightened his grip experimentally, watching as Spike’s eyes rolled slightly, his jaw tightening. “Know it, Xander.”

Xander bit his lip, nodded uncertainly and was trying to think of something to say when Spike kissed him. Not like before. This was driven, invading, and utterly consuming. A strangled, needy sound rose from his chest when Spike took his tongue. His hand spasmed, trying to get hold of something solid because the world had just tilted drastically, and he found it. Solid, throbbing, moving against him in short waves, and Spike growled right into his mouth.
Oh man. He was whimpering back, giving Spike everything he could with his mouth, shifting to get closer, struggling into the hands that had moved, grasping his head and hip. Panting erratically through his nose, Xander’s only thought beyond the physical was: Yes, Spike. He had no notion of time, no sense of separation between himself and Spike, so when Spike pulled away, he tried to follow, but was held back. A hoarse moan floated by his ear.

“So bloody good. I’m going to show you. Quick lesson. Number one. Then I’ll have you, pet.”

Xander shuddered, opened his eyes to look at Spike, who nodded at the mirror. Disorienting, to see only himself there, feeling Spike move behind to position his hands at the base of his spine, crossed, holding them in a light single-handed grip, and returning back to his side.

“Look there.” Spike’s chin rested on his shoulder, sending the sound of that voice right into his ear. “Can you see how fucking hot you are?”

Xander was shaking his head in denial before the sentence was even finished.

“Yes, you are. I would know. Don’t know why you hide it.”

Spike’s free hand moved deliberately across Xander’s chest. He watched the fabric in the reflection move, felt the touch, but his brain sat in limbo, not able to latch onto reality, trying to deal with the puzzle of senses. Fingertips settled over one nipple and he grew tense nearly everywhere else as it hardened under teasing brushes of sensation. Only his neck and knees were loose, and that more than normal, he realized, as his head lolled back, trying in vain to stay up.

“So responsive. You have no idea how rare that is. Look how you respond to me, pet. Your skin’s all alive, blood rushing around, I can hear it. Nerves are raw, aren’t they?”

Xander whined, trying to press into the touch, but kept back by the suddenly tighter hold on his wrists.
More. And magically Spike moved on, dropping his hand to laces at his hip. Oh, fuck. Cool fingers and suddenly he got the contrast. His legs felt lined by the odd exposure. Spike’s touch made him vibrantly aware of his body, bit by bit as Spike’s hand moved. Down his thigh, across his stomach, over and under the shirt, nipples so tight they were aching. He was barely aware of his own panting breaths as Spike brought his skin to life.

“Your body is begging for me. I can hear that too. Wants me. Wants me to take, and have, and rush, and taste. Your body wants it, pet. But do you?”

Xander swallowed hard, trying to find his voice.
Want. Yes. It was forced out of him when Spike’s roving hand finally skimmed firmly over his cock, reaching to cup his balls through the leather.

“Yes, Spike.” He couldn’t tell if a sound had actually come out, he didn’t hear it over the pounding blood in his ears. Pounding everywhere. Cock, balls, ass, his nerves trying to reorganize, following the touch, centering there, wherever Spike chose to feel, press, brush.

“Now look.”

Xander hadn’t even realized he’d stopped, but when he centered his gaze back on the mirror he gasped. He saw himself trembling in need, arching into an invisible hand that was brushing the underside of his cock, up and down, hard strokes of knuckle against leather. He saw his own mouth open and panting, eyes dilated and glazed.
Beautiful. And the thought almost startled him out of the haze, but he got lost in it for a long moment. Seeing himself like that. Debauched and wanting, waiting for the opportunity to beg Spike to just take him now. He knew the pride would be as brief as the view, but rather liked it in that moment. Wanted to feel it more, wanting to think or even know that he was someone worth being brought to this state of arousal, worth wanting, worth… loving. As amazing as the visual, and the different view of himself were, he needed to see Spike more.

“Spike.” He watched his mouth make the word, heard it and was jolted back into the body that was being teased.

“Yeah, pet?”

“Have me?”


“Now. Please. Spike.”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

Xander had to laugh, it was just too damn much, in such a short time. Throaty chuckles erupted from him as Spike turned him, lifting his arms to sweep the shirt off. And it was okay. Because Spike was smiling at him. A brilliant, sweet, unknown until that moment, smile. And chuckling too, dancing fingers over his ribs, turning chuckles into giggles at the tickling.

Watching Spike shed his own shirt made Xander’s giggling cut off in his throat at the sudden need to touch. Xander was still smiling, a bit shyly maybe, but the worst of the fearful tension he’d built up over the night had been released. He reached out and felt smooth pale skin, watching Spike’s abs clench when his thumb brushed over a nipple. Looked up to see that bright smile still in place, though softened and heated with promise.

“C’mon. I want to hear you really beg.” Teasing tone, but the words went straight to his cock. He grinned back.

“Yes, Spike.”

Somehow the leather pants came off, though Xander wasn’t sure how, because he was wrestled onto the nearest bed and covered by Spike before he could think about getting shy about his nudity. Having a wriggling Spike on top of him was a very effective distraction. Why think about nudity when you can… barely think. All that skin and a nuzzling face in his neck, making him giggle again. He wondered when Spike had removed the collar, figured he should have noticed that, but when Spike lowered his hips and brought their hard lengths skimming into contact he realized thinking was totally out. Gasping though, gasping he could do. And arch and latch on because it was too… good wasn’t even close. Fantastic. Sublime. And why was he thinking again?

One hand buried in Spike’s hair, the other catching a hip, all fingers digging frantically. Apparently that was okay, given the shiver-inducing growl vibrating into his chest via his collarbone. Spike moved against him, slowly restless, controlled in some way that Xander couldn’t fathom. His body just wanted to squirm and thrust and come, which he refused to let happen, wanting desperately not to come, because it was too amazing to want it over. Ever.

Their movements were far from harmonized. Spike’s were a series of long, smooth undulations, while Xander’s jerky twitches of reaction subverted any attempt to work in concert.

“Spike. Kiss me, please.” He needed something to focus on. The riot going on was great, but he was getting that overwhelmed feeling again, and knew that Spike could ground him. And he was right. Lips, teeth, and tongue connected them again; all playfully exploring on Xander’s part and staking out territory on Spike’s.
Oh god, how does he do that? And somehow Xander caught the rhythm, letting the slide of Spike’s chest and cock, hips and thighs lead him.

There was nothing quite like the strange echo of moaning into someone else’s mouth. The closeness of it and the responding purr he got made him clutch harder, arch more, body working toward orgasm, in spite of his brain’s attempt to stay where he was. Bliss.

“Spike…” It was weird and sort of hot to hear the pleading in his own voice.

Spike slowed the dance to lean up and look at him. He was distracted by the intense consideration showing on Spike’s face. “Yeah, pet?”

Xander blinked a few times, caught his thought again as Spike did some twist of his hips that ground the bases of their cocks together.

“Guh… want you in me… Oh, fuck. When I come… which is gonna be soon.”

“Fuck, Xander.” The tempo resumed, tighter and hotter than before. Spike obviously liked that idea.

“Please, yes.”

“You feel so good, so fucking warm, luv. Just want to crawl inside.”

“Do it.”

“Getting impatient?”

“Wanted this too long… not… can’t… hold off.”

“What if I don’t want you to?”

“Huh?” How Spike could debate this was beyond Xander.
Now. Fuck. Please.

“Pet… you’re too… bloody hell… worked up. I don’t want you distracted.” The last bit came out in a forced rush of breath, and Spike stopped moving suddenly, leaving Xander to twitch beneath him. A brief brush of lips on his and then Xander was ensnared, absently trying to think of blue things to compare to the darkened color he was trapped in.

“When I break into that sweet ass of yours, I don’t want you worrying about coming too soon.”
Sweet ass? Oh God.

“Might have a problem then.”

“Not if we take care of the immediate need and keep going.”

“Just do it, Spike.” Xander squirmed and sighed, caught between trying to find some way to get Spike’s cock in his ass now and wanting to find out what Spike wanted.


“Why not?”

“Because I’m the one running the show here, in case you forgot, and I want to taste you.”

Xander went still at the thought of Spike’s mouth on his dick and started praying silently that he’d get to watch. “Don’t tease.”

“I’m not… I do and I will, don’t doubt it. But I’m not now, not about this.”

A fierce tremor made its way through Xander, an old fantasy crawling in and taking over his thoughts.

“If you… when you… would you…?”


“Bite me.” The thought of mouth
and fangs on his cock, maybe sinking in near the base. Old image of pain and surrender and Xander was shaking.

The hands on him tightened, and Spike was leaning in and up, so close their noses brushed, and there was gold flickering at him. Lapis, Xander thought, before he noticed the clenching of Spike’s jaw.

“Care to repeat that?”

Xander closed his eyes and took a deep breath. How to explain being a Scooby and wanting a vamp to bite you? Curiosity? Sure. Fatal demon-magnethood? Maybe. Wanting all of Spike? Absolutely. And Spike didn’t know any of it, but he should. In a surprisingly calm tone he began to explain.

“I’ve wanted you for… well, a long time. Thought about it… a lot. And the vamp thing? Not really a problem. You assumed I don’t want to be bitten. I never said that. Okay, I’m sure I did… but I definitely didn’t say I don’t want
you to bite me. I may hedge and avoid and make stupid jokes, but I don’t lie. And that would be. I get it. I have picked up a few things doing this evil-fighting gig. The world isn’t black and white. I wouldn’t be here, with you, now, if I thought that. I wouldn’t be here with you at all, if I didn’t have a pretty good idea of what you are. And I still want to. Be here. And I don’t really do things halfway, Spike. I want to be yours. I know what that means. I have thought about it, longer than you can imagine, I’m sure. I’ve done the Scooby-time research sessions. I watched Buffy and Angel. Believe me. If you want me that much, I’m yours.” Xander was amazed that it had all made it out of him without a stutter, and as more of a speech than a babble. He was a little concerned that Spike was silent, though, and blinking at him with a stunned expression. Maybe it had been more of an incoherent babble, he hoped not though, because Xander didn’t know if he could repeat it; though he’d try, if he had to.

He watched Spike rise up slightly, look away and swallow a few times. Xander watched a pattern begin; breath in and held for a pause, jaw unlocking, as if to form a word and then Spike would swallow and tighten up again. Spike was staring at the headboard and seemed completely frozen except for the failing attempts at speech.

Xander moved his hands slowly; skimming over Spike’s skin in what he hoped was a reassuring way. After a few torturously long minutes he reached to turn Spike’s face back to him, and confused eyes met his.

“Spike. You’re not seducing me. Whatever you want. Whenever. I just didn’t think it would happen at all, okay? I came to terms with that. I’m glad I was wrong.”

Finally, Spike moved, toward him and not away.
Thank God. A cool mouth on his, moving softly, showing Xander in the gentleness of his touch, that Spike was good; maybe surprised and awed, but still in the game. Xander smiled against him and opened to a slow, careful caress. It didn’t last long. Xander could feel Spike integrating what he’d said, as the contact grew steadily more fevered.

Spike’s hands gripped him, moving swiftly from one vulnerable spot to the next, fingers pressing deeply into normally ticklish areas, nails abrading the insides of his thighs, his belly, the backs of knees. Teeth that had been held back came into play, gnawing and scraping along Xander’s mouth and jaw, his neck and upper chest. There was still a kind of mindfulness to the handling, but it was much less controlled and Xander knew he’d be marked in a variety of ways before the night was over. He had to fight the satisfied grin that tried to emerge when he recognized the demon’s desire to take and claim. He could barely believe it, but research had finally paid off in his favor, and as completely improbable as it was, Spike wanted him. He knew.

The statement he made had restored a lot of Xander’s control. The fact that he’d had to reassure Spike settled something anxious in the back of his mind. He knew that he needed to submit to Spike’s demon. That was the easy part. He had never imagined that he would have to convince Spike of that, though. Spike had been too careful with him. Too restrained, and while he appreciated it, it wasn’t necessary, at least not for Xander. Not when he wanted everything, the care and the beast, and knew he’d get it. It may have taken a bit, but his gut always knew, and his gut was right there with him, being turned inside out by Spike’s hungry learning of his body. Xander did his best to stretch and bare every tender spot, spreading his legs, arching his back, tilting his neck. He knew the language, and reveled in it. Spike complimented him perfectly, following vein and muscle to mark and own.

“Mine.” A truly vampiric snarl.

“Yes, Spike.” Xander’s eyes were rolling back, every inch of skin and sense throbbing through each heartbeat.

“Have to have you.” There was something harsh and desperate to Spike’s voice. Urgent.

“Yes, Spike.” Xander was back to trembling with need, amazed at the swiftness, but unquestioning as Spike dove into his mouth again, slowed his ravishing and then disappeared for a mere moment. Spike had been selective with his possession, leaving Xander’s groin alone except for the occasional glancing brush against a forearm or cheek. Not anymore. A whisper of breath was all the warning he got before Spike covered his cock with soft lips and stroking tongue. Fingers came to cup and roll his balls as firm suction took hold and Xander was fighting not to thrust into the wet attention. Spike worked his way down slowly taking each inch with a new slide of tongue and lips, grazing deliberate and slow with his teeth before picking up the suction again.

“Yes, Spike. God. Oh. Yes. Please… soon.”

Spike finished the last few inches, swallowing against the flesh in his throat firmly, pulling a full-bodied shriek out of Xander, before pulling off enough to wrap one blissfully strong fist around the base. The other palmed Xander’s sac, fingers reaching to press deeply into the skin behind, pulsing with Xander’s heart while Spike’s tongue coaxed precome from the slit. Xander gave up trying to pay attention. He could get tips later, he was being played too well to learn the song. He noticed when the fingers moved further down and slickly started opening him up, but other than, “Oh fuck yes,” he didn’t have a thought to hang onto.

“More.” And that he felt. Was that two or three? The brush against his prostate brought him out of relative stillness, trying to crawl further onto Spike’s fingers, his own tangled in the sheets. “Spike, please. Please, now. Want you… Fuck, please.” He hoped that Spike sucking hard while pulling off was some sign that he was prepared. Because he was beyond ready. Thanking numerous gods and the fist at the base of his cock, Xander got through a final nibble and lick without coming.

“Ready, luv?”

“Fuck, yes.”

Spike thrust his fingers, yes that had to be three, deeply into Xander’s ass and pressed hard on that spot. Xander shook, trying at once to get more and back away from the intensity.

“What was that?”

“Yes, Spike!”

“Good boy. Legs up, pet.”

Xander eagerly raised his legs, spreading wide and grabbing the backs of knees. The contortion made him feel every panting breath down his spine, the exposure frightening until he looked at Spike, saw the need and wonder riding hard alongside the demon’s hunger for possession.
Perfect. He felt both hands pulling back, one moving to position Spike’s cock at his opening, the other to hold him still. When he felt the press against his ass Xander started begging.

“Please, Spike. Please, now. Want. Please…”

Spike forced his cock slowly, but steadily inside, jaw clenched and holding Xander’s gaze. Eventually he was completely sheathed, and leaned in further, pressing Xander down with his hips. Shallow gasps replaced the pleading as the sense of being filled took hold.

Firmly seated and not moving, Spike rearranged Xander’s legs, one over a shoulder the other around his waist, then guided his left hand to the headboard and flashed a brief grin at him.

“You’re gonna need to hold on.”

Xander swallowed and nodded, taking a firm hold on the wood. There was a peculiar moment then. Spike took Xander’s right hand in his, stroking the palm, wrapped the other gently around Xander’s cock. He closed his eyes, thrusted minutely into Xander, as if checking to see if he were all the way in, took a breath and went completely still. Xander watched, battling the need to move, followed Spike’s lead, and just breathed. His heart was pounding, and his blood seemed to change course, magnetized by his contact with Spike. Hand, cock, and ass, all began to throb, starting with just a physical awareness of touch, but growing steadily more intense until they ached. When Spike opened his eyes Xander saw the demon there. And then he heard it.

“Mine.” Eerily calm, coming from some deep place Xander had never heard, Spike’s voice almost echoed in the silence.

“Yours.” Xander’s was a hoarse moan.

The stillness dissipated as Spike raised their hands and bent his head, true face emerging just as he moved his mouth to Xander’s palm. Fangs sank smoothly into the fleshy base of Xander’s thumb, just above the wrist. Xander trembled at the pain, but found pleasure underneath and was too mesmerized by what was happening to move. He noticed the tiniest bit of suction then he felt and watched Spike remove his fangs only to bite into his own hand. Once the blood was flowing he latched back onto Xander’s hand before offering his to Xander, resting his thumb under Xander’s cheekbone, fingertips finding his pulse under his chin.

Without needing to think about it Xander opened his mouth to taste, immediately stroking with his tongue and swallowing what he could. Xander’s hand moved to cup Spike’s jaw, feeling the working of his throat as he drank slowly. He felt the flow into his mouth slow and then stop, but leaned up to follow the spill that had tricked down Spike’s forearm. His eyes never left Spike’s. That last bit of nerve made Spike growl, then he gave Xander’s palm a final lick before returning to his human guise.

Spike’s hand went to the back of Xander’s neck and pulled him up, kissed him deeply, following traces of his own blood. Xander moaned and did the same, noticing the difference in tastes until it became indistinct and was just them. And the spell was broken, if it was a spell, he’d have to ask Spike later, because he was noticing his body again, well the burning ache in his cock and ass at the very least. He whimpered into Spike’s mouth and shifted his hips as much as could. Felt an answering grip and withdrawal from Spike and then lost all coherent thought. Pounding. Blood in his veins and Spike in his ass. The kiss was broken in favor of leverage and Xander
did need to hold on.

He had no idea what, if anything, came out of his mouth, but at some point became aware that he was hoarse and writhing, begging in a broken voice for more. And harder. And Spike and yes. And the hand on his cock loosened and started moving in fast, brutal strokes.

“Come for me, pet,” was moaned from above and Xander opened his eyes to see Spike straining with every thrust, watching him with dark, wanting eyes and he was gone. Head thrown, back arching, convulsive shaking and clenching and he was spilling onto his belly. In a haze of white noise and wrenching nerves he felt Spike’s final frantic thrusts and twitched into a proper, over stimulated oblivion to the sound of the guttural cry of Spike’s release.


There was a time when Xander hated certain scents, was careless, too loud and blind to subtlety.

At that time, he didn’t see himself, much less anything or anyone else. Style was something he
knew he didn’t have, and tried not to care, afraid of what that meant. Spike was evil, the basement was bad, and his job was being bait, making jokes and getting donuts. It was simple, at that time.

If he tries, he can see how things are more complex than all that, and so is he. He doesn’t need to try. He knows.



“Yeah, pet?”

“Should I take this polish off when we get home?”

“Do you like it?”

“I don’t think it looks right on me, but I kinda like it.”


“Well… it looks good with… the bite.”

“The bite looks right on you.”

“Yes, Spike.”

“Fuck, Xander. Not while I’m driving.”

“Then don’t use that… tone.”


“Do you like it? The polish I mean. On me.”

“It’s not really your style, pet.”

“No, it’s yours.”

“That’s right.”

“And I have you.”

“You do.”

“I know.”




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